


To see again the stars

by idioticonion



Category: DreamSMP
Genre: Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:48:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idioticonion/pseuds/idioticonion
Summary: After the Great L'Manberg War, both sides have lost their leaders in tragic circumstances.But while Wilbur's ghost has manifested in L'Manberg of its own accord, it seems that Schlatt will also be denied his final rest. Quackity has his bones and has plans of his own.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 99





	1. Perdona nuestras ofensas (Forgive us our trespasses)

**Author's Note:**

> There's a resurrection scene at the start of this fic that's a little horrific. So if that's not your thing, please avoid. 
> 
> Also, this fic contains real life persons from Dream SMP and is all in good fun. There is no shipping and most of the violence is Minecraft violence (ie everybody lives). However, there is angst and peril and strong language, in keeping with what goes on in the streams. So if this makes you uncomfortable in any way, please skip this fic.

The bones fuse together, lightning arcing across the cobblestone until there is nothing but swirling soul sand, obscuring the altar. Quackity’s manic laughter rises above the cacophony of the storm as rain hammers on the windowpanes. Inside the formless, billowing dust-cloud, a body begins to form, layer by layer, muscle and sinew coating bone, blood vessels, organs and skin manifesting one by one, until there are lungs, a throat, a mouth to scream in agony.

“Yes! Yes!” Quackity yells, because the spell is working and this sorcery will give him power - power over death. Power, perhaps, even over Dream. “Rise! Rise!” Quackity screams, his own arms lifting high in command. And yes, yes, surely there is a human there now, fully formed but writhing, twisting, bucking against the hands of Quackity’s acolytes who are holding it down.

The smoke dissipates. It is quiet once more; almost eerie.

“Schlatt?” Quackity calls out, his voice cracking, sounding nothing like the booming, commanding man that just performed the eldritch ceremony. With one hesitant step forward, he moves towards the now still body.

“Schlatt?”

The thing on the alter opens its eyes.

\--

Awareness. Pain in the head, in the eyes. He tries to reach out but there are people holding him down. This scares him. They are surrounding him, they have… weapons, crossbows, swords… they hate him – No! No, they are just men in stupid robes. Stupid fucking robes. What the fuck? What’s happening? He wants out. He’s clocked the fucking situation and he’s surrounded by a bunch of jabronis who can kiss his pretty ass.

He hauls himself up and they scatter like chess pieces. Easy money. He lurches his way off the cold stone table and clutches his chest, expecting pain, expecting to gasp for every breath. But there is no pain, nothing hurts, but his limbs feel disjointed and clumsy. Still, he can use them to smash, to push, to leave, to run-  
No, never to run. We don’t run.

So he walks, one foot in front of the other, until his whole body jerks when he’s hit by and arrow. He looks down to see the shaft embedded in his leg, but it doesn’t seem to slow him down. His heart is young and strong and vital. Walking steadily, implacably, he soon makes it to the nearest river, trailing blood all the way. After a moment of contemplation, he dives right in. Swimming… it feels… it’s fantastic. It’s ecstatic. Who’d have thought that simply swimming would be so cool? He takes big, deep breaths and dives, not surfacing until he burns for air. And then he climbs onto the riverbank and limps across the uneven ground, on and on, through trees, avoiding houses and people.

Finally he rests, by the river bank, and just closes his eyes, letting the sunlight dapple across his eyelids. It’s peaceful in a way that feels alien, almost nostalgic, like he hasn’t felt like this in a long, long time. He lifts his hands to his face, wiping away the sheen of water still clinging to his skin, and he’s surprised not to feel whiskers beneath his fingertips. Instead there are just smooth, angular features – jaw, nose, cheekbones. He returns to the river and takes a good look at his reflection in the still water. Clean shaven, then? His hair is too long, a mess, and when he tries to run his fingers through it he finds two, small, neat horns.  
This discovery should alarm him maybe, but it doesn’t. The fact that he has no idea who he is, where he is, and why, should be a big red flag right now. But it isn’t.

Everything looks different, feels different and is somehow unexpectedly easy. And for the first time in a long while, he feels happy.

\--

Technoblade gives Quackity a long, stern look. “So let me get this straight,” he says. “You resurrect Schlatt’s dead body using a cursed ritual and when it works you get scared and come to Technoblade for help.”

Quackity is standing in front of him, visibly shaking, twisting his beanie nervously between his fingers. “You didn’t see it, Techno! He woke up and flat-out murdered everybody. And then by the time we all respawned he was just gone.”  
Techno shook his head. “I’m sorry Quackity, but the thing is. The thing is about this life. It’s that if you mess with evil supernatural forces, they mess right back at you.”

Quackity almost loses it. “You’re kidding me! I’m telling you we’ve got a murder zombie on our hands and you’re misquoting fucking Nietzsche at me?”

“Well, I’m kinda impressed that you know it’s Nietzsche,” Techno mumbles.

“I’ll give you anything. I’m begging you, Techno. You’re the strongest player on the server. You’re the only one who can defeat him,” Quackity pleads.

Techno mutters something about getting Dream to just kick him out of the world like he did last time, but he’s already rooting around his chests for equipment.

“Okay.” He says. “But it’s not for payment. You couldn’t afford me anyway.”

Quackity stares at him, open mouthed with gratitude. “Then why, man?”

With a grin, Techno begins packing up his horse. “Well, if he’s as strong as you say he is, he might finally be the challenge that’s been sorely lacking on this server.”

\--  
Eventually hunger drives the thing back to civilisation. He moves at night-time, occasionally find abandoned residences to raid. He patches up his leg that way, finds some clothes, some helpful items, but no food. He must keep moving. His lips form the words, “I should go spelunking,” and his head is full of imagery of dark, deep caverns and flickering torches. “I need stuff,” he says. But he instinctively knows that he will only get food if he sticks to the surface. Eventually, on the horizon, he sees a bunch of quaint wooden houses, a small town built on stilts. “Huh,” he says, avoiding the well-lit route and instead circling around through a spruce and redwood hillside. He finds a good place to keep watch and settles down, patient, planning to raids some of the houses once the inhabitants turn in for the night. All he needs is food, and he can be in and out quickly. He’s deep in thought, trying to ignore his aching belly, when a voice in the dark startles him.

“Hello. Who are you, please?”

The thing tries not to yelp like a little girl. The thing fails. The thing is deeply embarrassed by this.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” He gulps, one hand splayed across his heart. “Who the fuck are you, buddy?” The voice in the dark sounds friendly, and somehow this is creepy as all hell.

“I am Ghostbur,” the voice says cheerily. A man steps out of the darkness and the thing can’t help but stare at him. His skin is pale and shimmers strangely, but his clothes are normal, boringly so. Mustard sweater and pants. Ghostbur reaches out a hand for a shake. “I am dead,” he says with a smile. “It is nice to meet you.”

“I don’t know who I am,” The thing says, staring at Ghostbur’s hand.

“Oh, are you lost?” Ghostbur asks. There’s something off about the way he speaks. The intonation is completely weird. “I will try to help you.” He offers, “What do you need?”

The thing isn’t sure he wants anything from this… person. Thing. But then again, who is he to talk. Strange recognises strange.

“I need a fucking name,” The thing mumbles grumpily.

“I will give you a name!” Ghostbur says excitedly. “What is a good name? What about Zebedee? Or Wigbert?”

The thing makes bug eyes at him. “Don’t you dare call me Wigbert,” he huffs with laughter.

“All right, maybe not Wigbert,” Ghostbur concedes. “But there are many other excellent names! Perhaps something simpler.” The strange, pale man goes silent for a moment, brows narrowed in thought. “Something like… I know!” His eyes light up. “I shall call you ‘Jay’! Is that a good name?” He claps his hands together, an almost childlike gesture. “Is it? Can we call you Jay?”

The thing really hasn’t the heart to disappoint him. He seems so… and he hates to even think the word because it makes him retch… sweet. Yeah, sweet. Who knew that fucking sweet was his one weakness? He could kill Ghostbur in one second, already dead or not, but the other man doesn't seem to be afraid of him. It's kind of nice having someone that isn’t afraid of him. Even if that person is working with several bananas short of a bunch.

“Sheesh, okay, okay.” He says. The thing, now named Jay apparently, grumbles as Ghostbur sits down next to him. It seems like he’s made a friend. “Great, another mouth to feed,” he complains. “Hey, speaking of-, there is one thing you can do for me.”  
Ghostbur looks at him, eager as a puppy.

“You know where there’s any food around here, pal?"

The other man nods, a bit too emphatically, and Jay rolls his eyes. It's going to be a long night.


	2. Santificado sea tu nombre (Hallowed by thy name)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Quackity resurrects JSchlatt, he doesn't expect the rampaging creature to immediately escape.  
> Scared and alone, JSchlatt has no memories, nowhere to go and no one to help him.  
> That is, until he meets Ghostbur.

The Ghost makes lists of things that it can remember. It scratches at the paper when inspiration strikes, seemingly unable to control if they are good memories or bad. The bad ones don’t seem to come from him, but from other people, living people, who tell him things about the past. He cannot blame them – they are well-meaning. But they don’t seem to realise how much it hurts him, or how much pain comes with trying to think about things that are seared inside him, nothing more than knots of scar tissue, with no hope of regeneration.

“Scorched earth... nothing to grow again. I want mycelium blocks...”

The words float at the edge of hearing and when he looks down at the book he is holding he sees that each line, each memory, is different, almost like each has been written by a different person. The Ghost is sure that he wrote every one. He’s almost sure.

Writing things down keeps everything neat and tidy, which is important. It helps the Ghost to organise his thoughts. If he doesn’t write everything down, his concentration wanders and his memories seem to dissipate again. He often finds himself standing somewhere unable to remember why he’s there or what he was doing. This won’t do at all! He needs to keep remembering if he’s to discover his purpose.

Everyone tells the Ghost that he has unfinished business and that is why he remains in L’Manberg. It makes logical sense that the Ghost try to discover what that business might be, so he can finish it. He has plenty of clues, written in spider-scrawl ink in his little book of memories.

Helping L’Manberg seems to be the most obvious priority, and there are practical things he can do in that regard. Everyone seems to want to build things, so he builds a crane to help them. Everyone seems so unaccountably sad, so he tries to cheer them up and support them. But it does not work and sometimes he catches people looking at him with naked grief in their eyes. A longing for a man that the Ghost can never be.

This makes the Ghost sad also.

For a long time it feels like he’s missing something obvious. But at the same time, the Ghost is scared to go looking for answers for himself. He doesn’t try to leave L’Manberg. He instinctively knows that he’s tethered there somehow. But he can be patient. He can keep watch. He can have hope that maybe the answer will come to him.

The answer, or part of the answer, comes in the shape of a scared, dark-eyed boy, who the Ghost finds at the borders of L’Manberg. This new person is defensive and prickly yet he still lets the Ghost help him. Sometimes the Ghost wants nothing more than to ruffle the boy’s hair with fond regard, but the thought of touching a living thing brings a deep revulsion so he doesn’t try.

The Ghost is surprised and delighted to find out how similar he and the boy are, how much they seem to share. Although the boy is clearly not a ghost, he is also not a normal human. He has less memories even than the Ghost, and an inner core of sadness that he tries to cover up with a smart mouth and a sardonic grin.

The Ghost can see right through him, however, which is odd because surely that should be the other way around?  
Perhaps helping this strange boy is his unfinished business. The Ghost has felt more… corporeal, since the boy came. And the boy let the Ghost name him. The Ghost knows that names are very powerful things, and that the act of naming the boy is almost like an enchantment. He wishes he had a name tag, so he that everyone else can see the boy's new name. Not that he thinks of Jay as a pet, but he feels a certain sense of obligation to him. Indeed, the Ghost feels a deep link, deeper even than the naming itself.

And so that is why, when the Ghost hears the rumours that Technoblade is in town, searching for a man that makes his brain blur, wanting to kill him, the Ghost finds himself experiencing something that he hasn’t felt since he first appeared in L’Manberg.

He feels a deep, burning rage.

And it feels so deliciously familiar.

\--

Jay discovers two things about Ghostbur.

Firstly, Ghostbur knows everyone in the village-on-stilts and is just as weird and overly nice to everyone else as he is with Jay.

Secondly, Ghostbur isn’t even his fucking name. People hesitate to say it, stumble over it, and sometimes they call him “Wilbur”. Jay can hear it through the grates in the sewers and it sounds like they are walking on eggshells around the Ghost, but it also sounds so fucking patronising. Jay has this desperate urge to get out there and explain this everyone. Repeatedly. With his fists.

He doesn’t know why he feels so protective of his friendly neighbour Ghost. But it feels like Wilbur has nobody to look out for him so it’s damn lucky that Jay showed up when he did.

One night, while the two of them are up late talking, typically restless and unable to sleep, Jay accidentally calls him Wilbur.

“Why did you say that?” The Ghost asks in his sing-song cadence. And although his voice does not express any malice, Jay feels danger rolling off him in waves.  
Still, Jay shrugs, trying to appear casual. “That’s your name, isn’t it?” He says.

There is a long pause. “No.” The Ghost says firmly. “That is the name of the alive-me. This me is named Ghostbur. I told you this already. It is rude for you to forget it so soon.” The Ghost gives him a long, blank look of disapproval.

Feeling cornered, Jay spits out a “Fuck you!” He’s dependent on the Ghost to hide out, but at the same time, he’s been cooped up too long and Ghostbur is getting on his nerves. He may not know much about himself, but if anyone were to ask, Jay doesn’t think he’s the kind of guy to take anyone’s shit. “Call me fucking rude? You’re rude. I’m leaving. I need to get outta here!” He declares, somewhat petulantly.

Before he can get to the door, the Ghost is standing in front of him, moving surprisingly speedily.

“Please,” he says. “Do not leave. It is dangerous.”

“The fuck?” Jay says, “Why?”

“There is a man,” The Ghost says. “He is looking for you. I think. I think he wants to kill you. He will kill you. He is very good at killing. He-” The Ghost suddenly looks distant and seems to drift sideways, without actually walking, across the room. He seems to fade in and out, like a badly tuned radio signal.

Jay finds his anger dissolving into confusion and follows the Ghost through to his Library, where he sees him take out a book, and begin to write, completely ignoring Jay.

“Dude?” Jay says but gets no reaction. “Bro, what’re you doing? What do you mean, somebody wants me dead?”

There is no response, but once the Ghost finishes writing he closes the book, silently placing it back amongst the other volumes.

“Please do not leave,” He says, monotone. “You will die if you leave. Technoblade will kill you.”

“You sure about that?” Jay says, fronting as much as he possibly can. “I mean… Not for nothing but I gotta tell you that I’m pretty strong.”

When the Ghost turns towards him, his eyes are glowing. “I am sure. He’s killed you before.”

Then the Ghost disappears, leaving Jay alone.

\--

“Where is he, Quackity?” Dream demands, his blade at Quackity’s throat. “Techno’s causing chaos around the server because you’re an idiot. You’re worse that Schlatt, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

“I don’t know where he is!” Quackity whines. “But I can- I can find out! Yeah! I can find out, Dream! I’ve got a spell. A locator. All I need are a few ingredients and if you were to give them to me-”

Dream rolls his eyes and swings the blade, huffing with frustration as Quackity’s items fall to the floor.

“Jesus,” he says, wiping his blade. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

\--

Left alone, Jay finds himself drawn to the bookshelf. He tries to read the spines and at first it makes his head hurt as the letters melt into each other, garbled and incomprehensible. But then its like something clicks inside him and the titles suddenly become clear.

One of them is named “Things I remember”. “Oh-kay,” Jay says, grabbing it and flipping it open. His eyes scan down a list of unfamiliar names and facts that mostly mean nothing to him. He sees the word “Techno” a couple of times and wonders if that’s the man who apparently wants to kill him. At the end of a list is a new entry, the ink little smudged from where Ghostbur had shut the book before it had a chance to dry.

The words “I don’t know” are crossed out.

The final entry just says, cryptically. “JSchlatt. My friend. (crossed out) My enemy. (crossed out) My friend.”

“Huh,” Jay says wonderingly. He has absolutely no fucking idea what any of that means.


	3. Venga tu reino (Thy kingdom come)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Quackity resurrects Schlatt, Ghostbur takes him in and hides him. While Schlatt has no memories, Ghostbur is desperately trying to reclaim his own, including those of his old friend. Now Technoblade is hunting Schlatt down, and both of them are in danger.

Within a week, Jay discovers a new purpose in life, and that purpose is simple: Fucking with people.

Although Ghostbur gives him explicit instructions not put himself in danger, the Ghost goes missing for a lot of the time so isn't there to keep an eye on him. Also Ghostbur seems to be some kind of potion-brewing god who is obsessed with invisibility. How can Jay be expected to resist the temptation of sampling some of the produce himself?

And so he gets to know the citizens of L’Manberg via the classic art of pranking them at every opportunity, for the short amount of time the invisibility potions last.

Jay starts small scale. Moving people's building materials while their backs are turned, for example. There’s a shit ton of building going on in L’Manberg, so that is pretty easy to arrange. The outrage and frustration in everyone’s reaction is enough to send him into peals of delighted laughter. It’s the most fun he can remember having, like, ever. He kind of wishes that the Ghost could join him, but he doesn’t want to rock the boat with his… room mate? Landlord? And so he keeps schtum in return for getting out of the sewers and into the fresh air.

Its when Jay finds the arrows that he really gets into trouble. There are plenty just lying around from skeletons, and turns out Jay knows how to make a pretty good bow. “You know what they call me?” He murmurs under his breath, lining up the sight to where Tommy is standing in the distance. “They call me ‘nice shot’,” He says with a smile, letting the arrow loose.

It flies true and hits Tommy straight in the ass. Jay hears the squeal of outrage and can’t help but snigger. “Nice shot,” he repeats with a nod.

But there’s a twinge inside him of something a little melancholy. Well, he thinks. It’s not so much fun doing this alone.

\--

And so, Jay discovers Ghostbur’s friends in a strange, second-hand way. The teenagers are loud and boisterous, but their antics make Jay smirk. He tries to talk to Ghostbur about them, but the Ghost seems more and more distant, replying in cryptic, stilted sentences.

Despite this, Jay gets to know the people of L’Manberg a little better every day, just by watching and silently observing. Fundy is quick witted, a talented builder and seems like he'd be a good bro. Phil is the only one who everyone will listen to, even the teenagers, but carries an inner sadness with him like a shroud. Niki is a spirit of light and warmth. When she visit Ghostbur she brings cakes and pastries, which Jay eats. Why wouldn’t he? They are fucking delicious. He decides to like her. 

All this mushy business and general lollygagging leaves Jay utterly unprepared for trouble. And trouble soon arrives in the form of the dreaded Technoblade. The imposing dude rides into town, and everyone pretty much cowers. Jay almost writes them all off as pussies until he sees Technoblade flight, leaving two people deal in a couple of minutes.

Jesus ever loving Christ.

Ghostbur orders Jay to “Stay hidden,” more urgency in his voice than Jay has ever known. Jay watches through the iron grate of the sewer as the people of L’Manberg face Technoblade with weapons drawn, even though they outnumber the man on the horse.

There are angry exchanges with the smaller teenager, Tubbo, who is apparently the President. From Jay’s experience, Tubbo is sweet and all, and a good people-person, but he’s no warrior. Holy crap, how the hell did the kid become president? Watching through the iron grating, Jay can’t see enough to be useful, but he does see Ghostbur, glowing faintly, moving closer and closer to the action – moving closer who where the danger is.

The danger that Ghostbur told Jay explicitly to stay out of.

Jay scrambles away from the grate, darting into the foyer to grab a potion. Chugging a hurried mouthful, he makes his way silently out of the sewer, climbing over the hillside to watch the confrontation. He’s trembling, his heart pounding hard enough that it feels like it’s going to bust through his chest, but he can’t just watch from the sidelines. Well, he could, but he won’t. These people are friends of the Ghost. They are good people. If Technoblade wants Jay, they he can fucking have him before he takes any more L’Manberg lives. A righteous anger surges through him, giving him tingles. This is right. This is the right thing to do, he figures.

That’s what Jay wants to be: He wants to be the dude that does the right thing. 

\--

“All I want to know, Tubbo, is where he is. It’s that simple. Hand over Schlatt.” Techno says, funereally. “I want to fight him.”

“But Schlatt’s dead, Techno!” Tubbo protests. “We buried him and everything.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that,” Quackity says, coming forward and sucking the air in between his teeth. “I might have made a teensy tiny mistake and, you know, kind of resurrected JSchlatt- But we don’t need to talk about that.”

“What?” Tommy yells, outraged. “You- you- you- Brought him back to life?” Everyone yells at the same time, with Niki’s horrified, “Why would you do that” and Phil’s “This is bad!” rising above the general melee.

“Kinda?” Quackity says sheepishly. “Um, not exactly. I mean, he’s not fully human.”

“No!” A voice cuts across the throng. “He’s not exactly human, is he Quackity?” Ghostbur strides forward, no longer the calm and peaceful spirit that everyone had grown used to, but much more malevolent. “In your hubris, you brought something back with your necromancy, and it is definitely not the Schlatt we remember. We cannot ascribe Schlatt’s crimes to the creature. We also cannot judge him by our own moral code,” He looks at Tommy, “Or our need for revenge, or power,” He looks pointedly at Quackity. “He did not ask to be brought back from the veil. I can attest to the horror of living a half-life. We are both in purgatory, I think, him and me. Already paying for the mistakes of our mortal life…” The Ghost trails off, looking sad.

“Nah,” Technoblade says. “Don’t care. Quackity promised me a fight and I’m sick of all you losers just wanting peace and love. This world is getting boring. If Schlatt isn’t here, then I’ll fight all of you. Those odds seem marginally fair to Technoblade.”

He swings his sword, the infamous Orphan Obliterator, right through Ghostbur, who seems to fuzz, glitch out and then disappear.

The world goes still – not a breeze blows, not a mob moves. Everybody holds their breath. 

Then there is a clash of metal. A netherite axe appears as if from thin air, almost knocking the blade out of the Techno’s hand. For a moment Techno is surprised, but then a figure appears in front of them, holding the axe, his invisibility potion wearing off abruptly.

“Yes!” Techno yells enthusiastically. He leaps off his horse and swings his sword expertly a couple of times. “This is all I wanted. You people are too dramatic sometimes.”

“Mr President, Sir?” Quackity whimpers, eyes widening as he sees Schlatt standing there, between the crown and Technoblade.

Jay plants his feet squarely and lifts his axe in front of him. “You want some?” He snarls at Technoblade. “Come get some.” Slowly he moves backwards toward the lake, drawing Techno away from the civilians.

The idiots follow them. Because of course they do, the numb nuts.

“Schlatt?” Someone calls out, Jay thinks its Tommy. “He’s alive? Schlatt! Be careful!”

“He actually looks surprisingly good for a zombie!” Tubbo comments.

Jay tries to put them out of his mind, watching as Techno circles him. The attack, when it comes, is swift and merciless, but Jay hold his own, his sheer strength enough to let him keep a hold on the axe. 

“You killed Ghostbur, you fuck,” Jay yells, retreating once more. “He wouldn't hurt a fly.”

Technoblade’s monotone laughter is eerie. “You really don’t remember, do you? Wilbur wasn’t an innocent, he was an anarchist. The only honest man in this forsaken place. I’m sure that everyone here is happy he’s gone. And when I kill you? Well, there’ll be a’feastin’ tonight!”

Jay lets out a roar and charges Techno. He doesn’t remember any of the things that Techno is saying and can barely believe them based on his own experience. In fact, he still doesn’t remember anything before he woke on Quackity’s alter. But deep down, somewhere deep inside him, Technoblade's word ring true. When Wilbur told Jay to hide, it wasn’t only Techno he was afraid of.

Techno blocks Jay, only just, but grins like he’s relishing the combat. “You know,” Techno says, a little smugly, “I don’t know why you’re defending Wilbur. He hated you more than anybody.”

No, Jay thinks. No, that’s off-base. He knows now that there must be history between he and Ghostbur, but they are barely a functioning human between them and Ghostbur’s memory is only marginally less swiss-cheesed than Jay's. Even so, the Ghost took Jay in and looked after him. In Ghostbur's little book of memories, Schlatt had been marked as friend. 

Panting for breath, Jay makes a run at Techno, lightning fast and strong, and batters at him with his axe. Techno is beaten back for few moments, but the other man is wiley and a far more experienced fighter. Eventually he catches Jay with the edge of his sword and slices down the man’s forearm. In two more strokes Techno has Jay on the floor, although Jay holds his axe high, still swinging.

There is a general swell of protest from the crowd as Techno hacks away at Jay, all pretence of skill-at-arms abandoned. His strikes gets closer and closer to the other man, until eventually Techno disarms Jay by bludgeoning him in the face with the hilt of his sword.

Beneath him, Jay lies dazed and vulnerable.

Techno raises his sword for the killing blow.

In the crowd, Tubbo is speaking urgently with Quackity. “But no, exactly how did you do it?” He asks. “What did you use?”

“I don’t see how this helps right now, Toobo,” Quackity says.

Techno strikes, his eponymous blade arcing through the air with a zing. 

There is a crack, like thunder, then billowing darkness.

Techno steps back, hurriedly. “Oh-kay,” He says. “This is new.”

“What did you use, Big Q?” Tubbo grabs hold of Quackity and shakes him, darting a fearful glance over to where Technoblade is standing. “What specifically did you use?”

“A bunch of things, Jesus!” Quackity says. “His bones, I don’t know, fucking glowstone dust, a ghast tear, soul sand-”

“Soul sand?” Tubbo groans. “Oh no…”

There is a roar as Jay’s body ascends, floating up into the air. Even looking at him hurts his eyes – it’s like looking at an x-ray, grey bones visible through his skin is like smoke. Jay's eyes burn like the sun and his mouth opens in a scream, fireballs shooting out of his chest and landing around all Technoblade.

“Wither!” Phil yells. “Everybody run!”

“Crap!” Technoblade says as he bursts into flame. “Do you know how many levels I have right now?”

And then, impossibly, amazingly, Technoblade is slain. 


	4. Líbranos del mal (Deliver us from evil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wither-Schlatt has gone absolutely feral and has killed Technoblade. 
> 
> But then as Techno killed Ghostbur, can you really blame him?

He is anger, he is rage. He explodes in fits and starts, letting it all go, every frustration that has been building inside him. The disorientation, the loss, the confinement, it all pours out of him as his full strength is made manifest against his enemy.

The enemy killed his only friend, the Ghost. The enemy is obliterated. Inside the maelstrom, he cackles with laughter.

He doesn’t want to hurt anyone else, but he wants to break something. He wants to break the world. 

Although this isn’t the first time the citizens of L’Manberg have faced a wither, this time they are completely unprepared. Nobody is dressed for war. This time there is no army in clad in netherite, no archers on the hillside, with bows drawn against him. There is no stash of potions to heal and protect. This time, there is simply a huddle of scared people, lambs to his slaughter.

It is here that he reclaims his power, putting aside Jay and embracing Schlatt. He’s falling into a grove that’s worn deep over the years, even though he can’t remember making it. He had power here once, and he wielded it without mercy. He may not have the memories, but he feels the feelings: Loneliness, emptiness, knowing deep in his soul that he has no reason to hold back if he has nobody to care for, and deliberately pushing away anyone who is in danger of saving him.

Like Quackity. Jesus Christ, Quackity. God.

Schlatt can see him, through the rage and whirling smoke, his old friend standing on the hill, pale-faced and determined. He feels guilt drag at him, pulling a choked scream from his lungs. He wants to burn, burn, burn, and at the same time supplicate himself at the feet of everyone man, woman and child in L’Manberg, begging for their forgiveness.

He wants to burn.

He screams again, an ancient, eldritch sound, into the sky like a beacon. It would be better if he was gone, better if he went up in flame before he hurt anybody else. But people are coming too near, some with swords drawn, heedless of the danger. The fools. The fucking idiots!

He closes his eyes, tight, tighter, until there is a rhythmic pounding inside him, and all he can see is the blood vessels inside his own eyelids. He can’t keep it in. He can’t. Not for a second more.

And then.

And then.

Light. Pale, white light. It seeps into him, surrounds him, douses his core and cools his rage. The anger, the violence, it all seeps away, like ice water from a melting glacier. Hitting the ground with a gentle bump, he lands on his hands and knees, and cracks opens one eye cautiously.

Wilbur is standing in front of him.

Wilbur.

Wilbur is there.

Like magic, like a miracle from God, He is standing there just looking at him in concern while Schlatt sags and shudders. Then Wilbur moves forward to put his arms around his friend, ostensibly to help him to his feet, except sadly, embarrassingly, Schlatt bursts into tears against his shoulder, soaking his mustard-coloured sweater right through with snot and effluvia. He can’t seem to stop. It all just pours out of him in huge sobs. He cries until there’s nothing left. He cries until the rage inside him is silent once more. 

\--

They use Phil’s house as a base, because its fairly large and central to L’Manberg, and there are lot of people who want to come by and gawp and the undead guy.

Schlatt sits on Philza’s bed, while Wilbur wipes his eyes like he’s a child.

“Better?” He asks. Wilbur’s voice is no longer cracked and hoarse. His skin seems less grey, more human. Or is that just the firelight?

Schlatt nods, not able to speak for the lump in his throat.

“You should get some sleep,” Wilbur says with a kind smile, and moves to get to his feet.

Schlatt’s hand darts out and he catches Wilbur’s arm. “No,” He says, croakily. “No, please. Can you…? Just, stay. Bro. Can you…? What happened back there?”

Wilbur settles back down with an “All right,” and, reassured, Schlatt lies down fully on the bed.

“You know the saying,” Wilbur says, “The light at the end of the tunnel?”

Schlatt smiles tentatatively. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Wilbur sighs. “Well it is a quite literal thing and that’s twice now that I’ve seen it. Firstly when Philza executed me,” his lips thin, “Yes, executed. I did a terrible thing. Nobody could have stopped me by that stage. And secondly, tonight. I could have gone towards the light, I know that now. Crossed over. I don’t know what’s beyond – heaven or hell – but it would have been an ending.”

They both sit there for a while, mulling over the implications. 

“Why didn’t you?” Schlatt asks him. "Why not cross over?"

“I couldn’t leave- couldn’t abandon… this. I couldn't abandon you, I suppose. I couldn’t just let another horrible, awful thing happen when I had the power to stop it.”

Schlatt snorts. “Yeah, figures you’d have the fucking angelic power of peace and I’d get the demon killing bullshit.”

“No!” Wilbur raises his voice in alarm, firm but not angry. Schlatt looks up at him. “Not good," Wilbur says, earnestly, "Not bad, either. Power can be used for either good or bad. You saved everyone from Techno. That’s a good thing.”

“Huh, I would have killed them all if you hadn’t shown up like fuckin’- Jesus.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow at him. “Would you, really? I could hear you even from beyond the veil. You were fighting with everything you had not to hurt them.”

And Schlatt remembers. The pain. What a struggle it was. How he’d wished himself dead before anything bad happened…

Then he feels Wilbur’s fingers comb through his hair, gently stroking the base of his horns and his mind goes fuzzy. It’s nice. Like being a child again, being petted to sleep. And so he closes his eyes and gives into it.

It’s good to finally rest in peace.

\--

The next day, Quackity comes to visit. Schlatt is sitting up in bed, reading a book that Wilbur gave him. He’s not sure what to make of it, and he barks with laughter at odd intervals. When he spots his old friend, he folds the book in his lap. “Hey,” He greets him with a small, hesitant smile.

“Schlatt,” Big Q replies, looking a little nervous, shifting from foot to foot. "Or is it Jay now?" 

"Just Schlatt is fine," He says. Schlatt lets Quackity get his bearings for a minute before continuing, “C’mon, spit it out, dude. What did you come here to say? I don’t got all day!”

Quackity’s eyes widen, until Schlatt flashes him a toothy grin, then he laughs. “I just wanted to see…” He takes a breath. “You look good, man.”

Schlatt nods approvingly. “You know it. So do you,” he says, teasingly.

Quackity smirks, cheeks flushing pink and he ducks his head, saying, “Well, I’ve been working on my- no, I,” He stutters. “I just- I wanted to know…”

“If I remember anything?” Schlatt finishes for him, “You know, I remember pieces. More and more each day.” He pauses, taking a breath just like Wilbur told him to. Wilbur’s got a lot more experience dealing with almost unbearable guilt, so he’s worth listening to. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

Quackity looks up in surprise.

“I am. Genuinely. I treated you like the worst kind of crap and you didn’t fucking deserve it.”

“Well, no. I-” Quackity's words peter out. Seeing him speechless for once in his life would genuinely be the best part of Schlatt’s day if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

“You didn’t deserve it,” Schlatt repeats, firmly. “And I’m gonna atone, somehow. Not quite sure how, but… I’m gonna try. So, I’m sorry. With all my heart, man.”

Quackity’s bottom lip wobbles.

“Don’t you fucking cry, bro!” Schlatt tells him. “There’s been enough grown men balling their eyes out in this town.”

And this makes Quackity smile. He’s got a nice smile. Schlatt thinks that this is probably a good start.

\--

Later…

Sitting on a hillside, shoulder to shoulder with Wilbur, Schlatt looks out over the very much not-blown-up L’Manberg and is thankful.

He’s thankful for many things. Mostly he’s thankful for this second chance at friendship – it’s a chance he knows he probably doesn’t deserve but he’s determined to grasp. Somewhere in his previous incarnation he forgot something crucial. He forgot to how to live and how to love life. He forgot the simple pleasure of just having fun, with no agenda, no schemes. He no longer feels the need to win, just to watch someone else lose. 

“I’m glad you decided to stick around, buddy,” He says to his companion, his words almost snatched away by a stiff breeze.

“So am I,” Wilbur says, leaning back with his arms outstretched behind him, face turned to the sun. “But they don’t seem to need us anymore. Tubbo is doing a great job as President. Did you hear, he’s decided to hold another election in the new year?”

Schlatt laughs. “Yeah because that went so well last time.”

Wilbur chuckles. “Well, I think they’ll be okay. Tubbo’s wise beyond his years. Well, when you compare him to the previous two Presidents anyway.”

“You love to see it,” Schlatt laughs, nodding.

“Although there is someone that’s getting a little too big for his boots.” Wilbur says with a smirk.

“Tommy?” Shaking his head, Schlatt pictures the wayward teen, careening up and down the Prime Path, challenging Dream to another duel. “What’cha say we take him down a peg?” He drawls, stretching lazily in the hot sun.

“What do you have in mind?” Wilbur replies, mischief in his eyes.

“Well,” Schlatt grins. “Do you still have any of that invisibility potion?”

Wilbur nods and laughs, and for the next few hours they stay there, on the hillside. Plotting together, and enjoying the simple pleasure of a quiet afternoon, while the sun sets over the horizon.

\--

The End.


End file.
